


I'm a sucker for you

by illay



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Drunken Confessions, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 05:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21238922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illay/pseuds/illay
Summary: Richie watches him, as he has been catching himself doing for years now. Eddie seems satisfied with himself, happy. Too happy, maybe. “Well, you became a total chick-magnet, haven’t you,” Richie teases, elbowing Eddie into the side. Reminding Eddie of his popularity is a sure-fire way to make him flustered. Which is one of the very few things that bring Richie joy recently.





	I'm a sucker for you

🥀

“Junior year sucked ass, and I bet Senior is gonna be just as bad,” Richie says matter-of-factly as they’re walking towards the school for the first day of classes.

Eddie hums, feigning empathy. “I dunno. I thought Junior was the best so far,” he admits with a shrug, probably not wanting to belittle Richie’s moping.

“Ugh, yeah, of course. No wonder. You became The Star,” Richie sing-songs, pulling Eddie closer with a weak headlock.

“Stop it,” Eddie says without any venom in his voice. “You know very well that was not the case.”

“Hmm, do I?” Richie questions. With their faces so close, his gaze drops to Eddie’s lips for a nanosecond and it’s the longest fraction of time he’s ever had to withstand. He quickly dispels it with more talking. As always. “I would have sworn you became Mister Popular once you somehow escaped your overbearing mother and her ways. I’m telling you, once you were allowed to do sports, in a blink of an eye, you became… like this,” Richie makes a face.

Eddie pushes him off lightly, freeing from the headlock. “Not my fault I made the team, right? Who would have thought once I stop taking all the gazebos my asthma actually gets better and I’m okay with exercise as well.”

Richie watches him, as he has been catching himself doing for years now. Eddie seems satisfied with himself, happy. Too happy, maybe. “Well, you became a total chick-magnet, haven’t you,” Richie teases, elbowing Eddie into the side. Reminding Eddie of his popularity is a sure-fire way to make him flustered. Which is one of the very few things that bring Richie joy recently.

Eddie smiles to himself, probably too shy to admit he’s been enjoying the attention, “I- I don’t know,” he pulls his backpack strap higher up his shoulder, “I guess girls are just more prone to paying attention to guys at this age, that’s all.”

“I never get any attention from them and I’m the same age as you,” Richie says back, no real emotion behind the words. It’s not like he’s jealous of the attention Eddie’s receiving.

Eddie doesn’t comment on that. Richie realizes the silence feels pointed, like a response in itself. Something sour makes its way to his taste buds. He doesn’t like it whenever it appears, doesn’t like to think about it. The only remedy is swallowing it back down, keeping it there, out of sight, out of his head.

“Let’s go. Could still catch Stan and the others before homeroom,” Richie steps out of the body of moving students walking towards the school. He knows Eddie will follow.

They make their way to the back entrance near the cafeteria, by the outdoors staircase used during fire drills. Richie hasn’t seen the other Losers whole summer, being holed up with his grandparents in Wyoming the whole time. One glimpse at his friends and he knows nothing much has changed, they’re all still losers, together.

Maybe Stan grew another half an inch and Ben has been smoking like a chimney to distract his hands from reaching out after food all the time, but otherwise - still the same old Losers.

“Oh, look at him, corrupting the little ones now, are you? You haven’t started smoking yet, like the rest of them, have you, Georgie?” Eddie greets Bill with a fistbump and that’s when Richie notices little Georgie crouching down with a comic book in his hand.

“Fuck off,” Georgie swats off Eddie’s hand when he tries to ruffle his hair, “And no one calls me Georgie anymore. I’m in 8th grade, you dick”. Everyone except of Bill laughs at how adorably is little Georgie growing up. Bill just scowls at his younger brother, probably long given up on trying to discourage him from swearing. Twelve was too late for them, it’s probably too late for Georgie, too.

“Want one?” Bev offers her pack of cigarettes to Richie.

Richie side-eyes Eddie, the only one of the Losers (aside from Mike) who doesn’t smoke. It’s common knowledge Eddie’s asthma could come back anytime and smoking isn’t recommended according to his doctors.

Eddie catches his gaze and shoves his shoulder playfully, “Go ahead, what’s up? Got shy all of a sudden? Don’t play coy on my behalf.”

“Fuck you. I do what I want, Eddie spaghetti, do not worry. I’ll smoke as much as I want.” Eddie watches him, visibly humored, Bev is still waiting for him to take a cigarette from her pack. “I’ll smoke as much as I want. When I want. Now fuck off, both of you.”

“Right, whatever,” Stan dismisses Richie’s exchange with Eddie and Beverly, “There’s a party down at Anderson’s house tomorrow. Any of you thought of going?”

Ben scoffs, lighting up another cigarette, “On whose invitation? Yours?”

“Come on,” Beverly nudges Ben’s side, wide smile on her face, “Not getting invited never stopped us before, right?” Everyone is painfully aware of the last house party the Losers Club attended. Richie got beat up for trash talking one of the jock hosts, Bev got chased off by Greta and her pawns. Overall a typical Losers Friday.

“My point, exactly,” Stan agrees with Beverly. “Well, think about it or something. It ain’t like we have anything better to do first Friday after summer.”

🥀

“You thinking of going?” Richie interrupts Eddie’s thoughts as they’re walking to homeroom.

“Maybe,” Eddie admits. It’s not like he needs to crash the party, it’s very possible he would be even welcome at Anderson’s house. They are teammates after all.

“Ah I always forget you’re not a Loser anymore, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie just says that, running his mouth, as he does, not realizing the sharp pain the words leave.

Before Eddie can react, a girl with a high fluffed up ponytail walks into his personal space. Stacy Maze. Eddie shares Math and Physics with her, maybe. He doesn’t remember ever talking to her before. Eddie’s gaze follows Richie a few feet away, Richie looks back at him and then drops his sight to the ground as he turns away towards his locker.

“Eddie! Hey!” Stacy says in a high pitched, overly excited voice.

“Stacy, hey,” Eddie isn’t realizing it but his greeting sounds like a question.

Stacy chews her bubblegum with her mouth open, smacking her lips with it. “You know Jonathan Anderson’s, right? Down at Witcham Street. Party this Friday, you should come. Will I see you there, Eddie?” 

She flutters her lashes at him. Eddie swallows on empty, “Uh, yeah, sure. I was thinking of going actually, also with my friends,” he weakly tries to motion towards Richie’s back just across the hallway.

“Great!” Stacy exclaims, not having registered the part about Eddie’s friends. She squeezes his shoulder, her palm warm through the fabric of his shirt. “See you Friday then.” She leaves behind a cloud of sweet scent and confusion in Eddie’s head.

“The fuck did she want?” Richie says with a sour expression on his face when he rejoins Eddie by his locker.

“Asked me if I’m going to Anderson’s party this Friday.”

“I don’t believe this, Eds getting himself a real girl, who would have thought, huh. Maybe you’ll finally score with more than just your hand,” Richie accompanies the sentiment with a vulgar gesture. His voice doesn’t betray anything, it’s just another dumb joke as everything he says, but Eddie can see the hard lines of Richie’s face as he’s saying this, clearly dissatisfied.

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie retorts automatically. As they’re walking towards their respective homerooms, Eddie can see Richie’s frown behind his thick glasses. He refuses to let it go just like that. “What is your problem exactly?” he reaches after Richie’s elbow. Eddie hasn’t noticed this before, but Richie grew again during the summer he spent away from Derry; it catches him off guard a little.

“My problem?” Richie’s voice is unusually small, like he can’t believe Eddie would ask him this. He shakes off Eddie’s hold and Eddie’s palm feels cold all of a sudden. “Your fake humbleness sickens me, for starters. You pretend like you’re still a loser, like you were in middle school, just like the rest of us. But you’re not, are you? You get invited to parties by the popular clique now. You get asked out by Stacy fucking Maze, of all people.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “You’re just jealous you’re not getting any attention from girls. Which - just for the record, you’d get plenty of if you just stopped being an insufferable ass to every new person who wants to befriend you.”

“Jealous. What the fuck, Eds. I don’t even want any attention from girls,” Richie’s breathing gets a little heavier, like he’s rushing through each syllable a bit too fast.

Eddie isn’t thinking when he speaks next, “Who do you want it from then, Richie? Boys?”

Richie’s frown deepens and that’s the moment the school bell rings. “Homeroom,” Richie says dryly, disregarding their conversation and pushes past Eddie.

“Rich,” Eddie exhales weakly, not loud enough for his friend to hear him.

🥀

The Losers don’t go to the party all together. As for infiltrating other people’s homes, it’s better to blend in, so they decided to disperse, Ben and Bev arrived together first, later on Bill and Stan were supposed to show up, Mike bailed and Richie should be already inside as well at this point, as Eddie is standing on the front lawn. Wearing his varsity jacket, Richie’s words ring in his ears, he doesn’t feel like he needs to sneak in. He could just walk in and his teammates would probably even greet him. He has the least reason to feel out of place here, and yet he’s debating whether he really wants to spend his evening like this.

He figures it would be an asshole move not to show at this point, he walked all the way over to Jonathan’s Anderson’s house, after all. 

Handshakes and highfives get shoved at him as he walks in. A beer is pushed into his hand with a pat on the back from one of his teammates. Within a few minutes Eddie catches a glimpse of Richie standing by the doorway to the backyard, nursing a beer of his own. Their gazes meet for a nanosecond before Richie drops his gaze to the ground as he shuffles his his weight from foot to foot.

“Hey! You made it!” Stacy Maze throws herself at Eddie, hugging him close and blocking his view. When she pulls away, Richie is nowhere to be found. Eddie lets himself be pulled to dance and drink more. There are shots passed around and he decides he deserves a break, so he goes along with it easily.

Stacy Maze is somehow always in his line of sight. Which is not the worst sight ever, she’s cute and her cheeks are pink with all the alcohol she’s drunk, and her hands pull Eddie closer by the nape of his neck. Eddie doesn’t fight back when she pulls him into a kiss. It tastes like cheap vodka and Eddie doesn’t know what to do with his hands, but he’s going with it, because Stacy Maze isn’t hideous and is willing. Eddie doesn’t aim higher with girls.

🥀

Richie sits out on the veranda on his own, having just drunk several straight shots of gin in a row, after drinking four or five beers. One could say the fresh breeze coming from the backyard is hitting differently. 

Stan and Bev both stopped by him a few moments ago, but he sent them off, claiming he doesn’t want any company. Which is true. He feels like he wouldn’t be able to handle himself after having seen what he’s seen in the living room some time ago, and with all the alcohol making his tongue loose.

The scene is still playing in Richie’s mind; loud bassy music and half filled living room of dancing teenagers. In the midst of the scene there is standing Stacy Maze and Eddie Kaspbrak, kissing. There was a bitter lump making its way up Richie’s throat, making a nice nest there, not leaving him alone. He can still taste it at the back of his throat. Jealousy, anger, disgusting feeling of otherness. 

So he went to drink more. And drank as much as he could get his hands on in the three minute window of the kitchen being vacant of anyone else. The moment he heard a group of girls approaching, he put his glass down and left towards the backyard where he’s currently sitting, out of it and dizzy with sadness.

“He’s here,” Richie can kind of make out Bill’s voice coming from the house.

“Rich?” Ben crouches in front of him, taking the half empty beer bottle from Richie’s hand gently. “You ready to go home, buddy? Anderson is trying to get rid of everyone. We figured we should run for it, since no one even invited us in the first place,” he says with a small wince.

“Eddie,” Richie slurs, not sure what he’s trying to say with that.  _ Eddie belongs here now, he can stay? Eddie made me like this and now I can’t fucking walk on my own? _ He’s not sure, and he doesnt wanna know. Talking doesn’t suit him when he’s drunk.

“Hey,” Richie stirs too quickly, hearing Eddie’s voice, “Let’s get out of here.” Eddie doesn’t explain himself - why he was exchanging spit with Stacy fucking Maze. Eddie doesn’t ask if Richie is ready to go home, like nice, sweet Ben did. Eddie simply takes Richie’s arm and puts it around his shoulder, helping him to his feet.

“You biked here?” Eddie asks as they’re exiting the house through the main entrance, voice small and soft. Richie hates it. Hates that he loves it.

Richie just nods. Eddie stops in his step and turns around to the others. “I’ll take Richie home. You guys go ahead, we’ll be slow anyway, this fucker biked here, can you believe it?”

Stan shakes his head, “Typical Richie.”

Bev and Bill exchange a laugh, and Ben just waves them goodbye as the whole group is leaving the two of them behind.

Eddie ends up pushing the bike with one hand and supporting Richie’s weight with his other arm. Hands full of Richie, Richie half laughs at that thought. He’s so funny. Even drunk. For a moment he feels weightless, light like a feather, like nothing is weighing him down.

“You had fun, Richie?” Eddie’s voice tears through the veil of weightlessness, he sounds teasing, maybe with a hint of pity even. 

Richie’s stomach drops when he remembers the night. He stops abruptly, making Eddie drop the bike against the asphalt with a loud clatter. “Fun?” he questions, almost offended.

“Yeah, just as part of a conversation I’m asking you how you liked the party.” 

“I know what you’re asking, jackass.” Richie tries to swallow the bitter lump still present in his throat. “It was shit,” he says finally, as if it was the most eloquent answer he could have come up with.

Eddie hums, “Yeah, I could see why.”

“Bullshit,” Richie drawls out slowly. “You don’t know jack shit, Eds.”

There’s a smirk audible in Eddie’s voice, although Richie doesn’t look up at him, eyes still trained at the tips of Eddie’s feet. “Wanna share your troubles then?”

Richie and his dumb, loose tongue. “All of it is bullshit. You’re bullshit,” he really likes the word  _ bullshit  _ and how his drunk mouth curls around it. Richie should use it more often, he decides. “You’re bullshit. You’re stupid. You’re stupidly hot and that’s why the girls all want you now. You got a spot on the team and you’re wearing this dumb jock varsity jacket,” Richie swats at Eddie’s chest weakly, “And your hair is super stupidly attractive. And it’s summer so your freckles are showing and it’s just not fair, Eds.” Richie hangs his head low, in the smallest voice he’s capable of, he adds, “I’ve loved you since before you were hot. Since before you stopped carrying around that inhaler of yours and everything, just - unfair. Pile of bullshit.”

“Okay, Richie. If you’re done, then lets get you home,” Eddie says, seemingly not acknowledging anything of what Richie’s said. Small miracles exist.

“So much I wanna tell you. Always wanna tell you,” Richie admits, slurring, leaning heavily into Eddie’s side. 

Eddie hoists his weight up a little, “I know, buddy. Maybe when you’re sober, huh?" 

“I cannot say when sober, Eddie," Richie admits a bit sadly, suddenly ashamed he’s unable to say without alcohol the only simple truth he’s ever known. 

“I know,” Eddie responds in a small voice, “I’m hoping maybe someday you could.”

Richie gets into bed that night with Eddie’s help, his cheeks are still wet when Eddie is saying goodnight, leaving him in his room.

🥀

Late Saturday morning finds Richie with a terrible hangover, with ringing in his ears and rocks in his tummy. He is thankful to Friday Night Richie for being so considerate and leaving a trashcan by his bed, together with big jug of water on the nightstand. The trashcan comes in handy right as Richie wakes up.

“Motherfucker,” he mumbles as he spits out last bits of vomit. “Which god did I anger to deserve this?” 

“I’d say there’s at least a dozen,” Richie turns to the door way too quickly, getting dizzy all over again. Eddie is standing there, annoyingly bright and put together with crisp washed out jeans and big dark blue hoodie. Richie hates the way his stomach contracts at the sight - and it’s not just a simple hangover cramp.

“What are you doing here?” Richie croaks out. He tries to sit up but the world spins way too much so he just lets his face plant back into the pillow.

“Just checking up on you, I guess,” Eddie steps into the room, kicking some dirty clothes out of the way. He walks over to the window and opens it. 

Richie groans, burrowing his face further into the pillow. He doesn’t even want to know how much his hangover will kick in once he breathes fresh air. “How unbelievably kind of you,” the sarcasm in the sentiment doesn’t go over Eddie’s head, although Eddie’s obviously set on pretending it does.

He sits down at the foot of Richie’s bed, “So you’re feeling any better today?”

Richie grabs after his glasses and manages to lift his head to look back at his friend. Combing the unruly hair out of his face, he says, “Are you serious right now?” Eddie doesn’t admit to be kidding, so Richie goes on, “I’m having a hangover from hell here, and you ask me if I’m feeling better? No, fuckface, I want to fucking die right now. The fuck.”

Eddie looks down at his own fidgeting hands, “So you don’t remember much of the party?”

Richie lets out another low groan, “I remember Bev spilling some punch on Stanley and him leaving her behind there, all butthurt, like a kindergartner?” Richie offers with somewhat of a shrug, “I bet I will remember more shit once my head is not splitting in half with this headache. Now, stop making me think unless you want me dead, you ass.”

Eddie sighs as he reaches into his bag for a blister pack and pops two capsules. Walking over, he hands them to Richie together with the water from his nightstand. “Here, aspirin. Also, drink all of this.”

“You still carry so much meds around, dude. Thought those days were long gone.” Richie remembers the Eddie from middle school - terrified of getting sick, sicker, always popping pills and breathing with his inhaler. That Eddie felt weak and small and Richie could tell. Although he’d never say anything of that sort, he’s glad Eddie grew out of those bad habits his mother taught him. He might miss the small, weak, scared Eddie, but that’s only because that depiction reminded him of himself in a way; in a way, they were equal back then.

Richie swallows the pills and drinks a few gulps of water. When Eddie isn’t saying anything, just looking at him somewhat sadly, he blows, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Eddie says defensively.

Richie manages to half sit up in his bed, he notices he’s still wearing last night’s clothes, maybe Friday Night Richie doesn’t deserve that much credit, after all. “No, no, you are. You…,” he takes a closer look at Eddie, standing in front of the open window, too bright for Richie’s eyes. “This smells like pity, Eds. What’s up? Did I do something? Okay, give it to me straight. Did I dance naked on a table and everyone laughed?” It’s a possibility.

Eddie makes a face, “That’s… oddly specific. But no, no, you didn’t.”

Richie shrugs, “Then it couldn’t have been that bad, goodnight,” he says, letting his head hit the pillow again.

“It wasn’t,” Eddie says out of the window, not looking at Richie, “It wasn’t bad at all, actually.”

🥀

Eddie starts dating Stacy Maze and it’s all Richie’s hearing about. Sitting down at their usual table at the corner diner, he joins the group just in time for this:

“Yeah, we’re going on a date on a weekend finally,” Eddie is saying, bragging to Stanley and Bill. Richie just rolls his eyes as he sits down to his food.

“So how are things then?” Bill asks, wiggling his brow slightly, drawing lazy circles into the surface of the soup with his spoon, clearly not thrilled about his lunch.

Eddie smirks at the three of them, “I’m planning on getting to third base this time.”

Neither Bill nor Stan say anything, Bill just offers a nod of acknowledgement, surely admiring Eddie’s high aim with Stacy. Richie keeps his eyes on his tray, pretending he didn’t hear anything.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Eddie shoots Richie’s way, “What’s gotten into you lately?”

Richie makes a face at him, “What do you want me to do? Jump three feet high with happiness that you plan on scoring with some random girl? Stacy fucking Maze, no less? I don’t hear anyone else saying anything, why are you expecting me to?”

Stan offers the explanation in Eddie’s stead, “Because you’re a trashmouth. You always have something to say, Richie. Especially when it’s unwarranted.”

Richie can see Eddie shrug and nod in agreement. “Get fucked. All of you,” he addresses the whole group, but it’s targeted at Eddie, because of course it is. What in Richie’s life isn’t?

🥀

The sun is a long way away from setting when the boys are leaving the diner that afternoon. Bill hurried to Georgie’s baseball game and Stan had some college exam prep course things to deal with - some nerd shit Richie didn’t care for. 

It’s just Richie and Eddie on their way home on the bikes.

“Seriously. Are you okay?” Eddie asks what feels like the millionth time. There’s a slight worry detectable in his voice and that only puts Richie more on edge.

“Quit asking me that!” He responds through his teeth, speeding up ahead a bit, “I swear to god, you’ve asked me this shit like a million times this week. Crap’s tiring.”

Eddie isn’t saying anything, as if making a point he’s not giving up with the relentless asking.

“What?” Richie barks at him, some of the anger seeping through with his words, “Yes, I’m okay. Now fuck off. Go make out with your girlfriend or something.”

Eddie brakes abruptly in front of Richie, blocking him.

Richie loses some of his balance and has to put down one foot down onto the gravel, “Can you move?”

“You know, Richie,” Eddie starts in his lecturing voice, “Maybe if you weren’t such a coward you wouldn’t have to let the jealousy eat you alive.”

“Coward?” Richie snorts a laugh, Eddie’s got that completely wrong. “Jealousy? You think-? You think I wanna get with Maze? As if!”

“Not with her, no,” Eddie’s standing his tallest, almost proud, ready to stand his ground.

Richie’s face goes slack with surprise when he realizes what Eddie is implying, momentarily not schooling his face into the sharp features and deep frown.

“Richie,” Eddie’s voice is slower, softer. Richie hates it for some reason, sounds like pity. “You talked after the party. When you were pretty out of it. I know.”

“You don’t know shit,” Richie’s own voice is weak, all air gone from his lungs and in that moment it feels like he has no idea how to pump more air in, how to breathe. Eddie’s eyes only show pity still and Richie ends up shouting into his face on repeat, like a mantra, “You don’t know shit! You don’t know shit!” 

“Then fucking tell me!” Eddie’s words are sticky with desperation, “You said there was so much you wanted me to know, but you’re only keeping quiet, keeping it from me! How is that for fair, huh?”

It’s hard to breathe and at the same time Richie finds he’s hyperventilating. “Get out of my way. Eddie, get out of my way. Get out of my fucking way!” he ends up shouting at his friend as he’s maneuvering around him, before he bikes off, vision blurred with tears.

🥀

Richie is swinging back and forth in the old hammock, in their long abandoned underground clubhouse at the Barrens. Scared out of his mind, he’s trying to get his mind to work, to make it help him make sense of what’s happened. How much does Eddie know and why would he push him to say it again, to say more?

He doesn’t get far with his scattered thoughts when Eddie’s voice comes from the entrance, kind, soft, “I had a hunch you’d be here.” Richie doesn’t look up at him, he can hear Eddie swallow on empty, though, exhaling a small laugh, “The bike outside was a pretty strong giveaway though.” 

“What do you want?” Richie’s voice comes out sharp, mad. Good, he thinks, it’s his last line of defense, after all.

Eddie scoffs lightly as he walks over to Richie, “I want you to stop being a dick, but Jesus is not around to perform that sort of miracle for me, unfortunately.”

“Asshole,” Richie can’t help but smile to himself a little, still not looking up at Eddie.

“Fuckface,” Eddie says in a small voice as he’s sitting down next to Richie into the hammock, just how they used to when they were kids, tights and shoulders pressed together.

“Why are you here?” Richie asks after a while.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Eddie shoots back, nudging Richie’s shoulder a little.

Richie scrunches up his nose, thinking, “Hiding? I guess.”

“From me? Well, you did a pretty shitty job of it. Not that I’d expect better from you,” Eddie teases.

“Fuck off,” Richie can’t help but say that through a smile.

Eddie sighs, his shoulders slouching a little, “I wanted to say…, I just wanted to say you don’t have to tell me anything, but I really think it would be perhaps better if you did,” Eddie’s voice quivers ever so slightly, like he’s pleading for something he knows he can’t have, something he really wants. Richie can’t read the tone, as it’s not making any sense.

“Once I say it, everything changes, Eddie,” Richie says in a sad tone.

“It doesn’t have to,” Eddie offers almost hopefully. He doesn’t get it, and Richie doesn’t blame him.

Richie shakes his head, “It would. Maybe not for you, but for me everything would be different.”

Eddie turns to him, “Bad different?”

“What?” Richie doesn’t get it right away, “I don’t know. What? Of course, of course bad. I mean, depends, I suppose.”

“On what?” the question hits against Richie’s shoulder in the form of a puff of warm air, a reminder of how close Eddie really is in this moment. Closer than he’s been probably in years.

Richie looks at him, “Huh?” nothing is making sense.

“Depends on what?” Eddie asks again.

Richie’s frame shakes with a small, sad laughter, another step closer to the edge, “You’re unbelievable. You’re really trying to push me into it, huh? On your reaction, on everyone’s reaction. I can’t just--” he can feel the back of his throat forming a lump, he knows he’s about to cry, but at this point Richie is sure not even staying quiet would help. “It’s not fair, Eds. It’s not fair.” Richie slouches forward and his shoulders shake with a few silent sobs, the terror of what might await him overpowering any fear of embarrassment.

“So don’t tell everyone,” Eddie’s voice is annoyingly calm, but soothing. He sounds uncharacteristically soft and slow, like he’s saying well rehearsed phrases. “Tell just me. Here. I'll keep it safe.”

“So only you'll get to hate me,” Richie says, sniffling. “Great. As if that wasn’t the worst punishment for this.”

“You don’t know that. You really think I could hate you? Come on, Richie. We’ve been friends for a decade now, and no offense but you’re an insufferable asshole. If I don’t hate you already because of your dumb humor and overall disastrous behavior, I don’t think you could throw at me anything worse at this point.” 

Richie lets out something between a sob and a laugh, somewhat appreciating Eddie trying to make the situation lighter with humor - a task that’s usually on Richie’s shoulders. He sniffles against the hem of his sleeve, “You said you know anyway. That I talked. Why do you need me to even say anything?” 

Eddie’s voice is back to the slow, calming tone, “To make it real. To make it count.” 

Richie looks at him, utterly confused, “You want that? To be real? To count?" 

Eddie touches Richie's bare knee with just his fingertips, the contact burns. “I just wanna know if it’s true,” he says in the smallest, most private voice yet. 

Richie's eyes fill with hot tears again, he can’t really speak around the lump in his throat, so he just dumbly nods a few times, “I’m sorry-,” he’s about to sob out an apology when Eddie leans closer, palm turning Richie's face towards him and there’s the softest kiss planted against his lips. 

“What-,” Richie croaks out, it’s hard to catch Eddie's gaze, but Richie could swear he’s smiling to himself, his heart is breaking at the thought this was all one elaborate prank.

“You’re so fucking dumb, Richie Tozier,” Eddie exhales, smiling up at him.

“What-,” Richie says again, the only syllable his vocal cords are seemingly capable of.

Eddie runs his thumbs under the rims of Richie's glasses, wiping away the spilled tears, “Such an idiot.” He doesn’t let Richie respond with another intelligent  _ What _ and kisses him instead. It’s longer and sweeter and Richie trembles against him a little, but it counts and it’s real. 

“What- what about Maze? Your third base and all that?” Richie searches Eddie’s eyes when they pull away, Eddie’s palm is still at Richie’s neck and he hopes it stays there a little longer.

Eddie shrugs, “I’m not planning anything like that with her. I think I won’t even go on that date,” Eddie tries to stop a smile from spreading on his face by biting his lower lip, “I just said that because I wanted to see your reaction,” he admits.

“Fucking asshole,” Richie shoves him a little. 

Eddie’s hand slides down between them, holding his hand, catching him off guard, “Besides,” Eddie adds with a grin, “If I ever want to score with a girl, I'll just go see your mom.” 

“Really?” Richie deadpans, “Real mature. Also. A total turn off.” 

“You don’t say,” Eddie leans in again with somewhat of a shit-eating grin. Richie meets him halfway this time. 

They end up kissing for minutes more, holding hands, palm against palm. And although Richie doesn’t understand about good 95 percent of what’s happened this afternoon, he’s letting it happen, because if this is a fever dream, it’s the best one yet.  


🥀

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, leave a comment to make me happy, ta!


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